Dinner à Trois

I was working in New York today and had dinner with Mamela and The Glamazon. The three of us established a tradition a few years back: on the occasion of one of our birthdays, we treat that person to dinner at an eatery of their choosing. We used to go to the theater afterwards (the play being the birthday celebrant's choice as well), but after I forced Mamela and The Glamazon to sit through a three hour performance of Ray Fiennes in "The Faith Healer," the kibosh was quickly applied to that part of the tradition.

The Glamazon celebrates her birthday on Christmas, an irony (which she points out every year) because she's a nice Jewish girl from Queens. Tonight she selected a Lebanese restaurant on 28th Street. She'd eaten there a few weeks before and wanted to go there again. This forced Mamela to blurt, "Whaaa? You live in a city with 15,000 places to eat and you wanna go there again?" Yes, The Glamazon did want to eat there again and well, you'll just have to suffer through the meal because it was her birthday and her choice. So there.

Watching Mamela and The Glamazon verbally spar is pure sport. They're both nice Jewish girls from Queens of the same generation. The Glamazon is a little neurotic but very ladylike. Mamela is an in-your-face-tell-it-like-it-is New Yorker. And I'm the referee. Once we sat down at our gleaming table in the dimly lit venue, it was game on. In fact, they were so enthralled in their opening gambit, they were oblivious to the fact that I was recording their dialogue in a small notebook. Only once did Mamela say, "What are you writing there? We're talking here. Get involved!"

The opening gambit started thusly:

Mamela: I'm so hungry. Are we getting wine? They make very good margaritas here. Delish. Maybe we should get a bottle of the Persian wine.
Me: I'm not eating sugar. And this is not a Persian restaurant.
The Glamazon: I don't want a drink tonight.
Mamela: Whaa? How boring are you? It's your birthday dinner. You have to have a drink. It'll make you less uptight. We'll get some middle eastern wine, wherever they grow it. You'll like it. (to me) Why aren't you eating sugar? That's not healthy.
The Glamazon: I was out of Ambien. I didn't sleep last night. If I have anything to drink, I'll fall asleep.
Me: Is that a bad thing?
Mamela: You should have a drink. You had two glasses of champagne at the Christmas party and I thought you were going to start dancing with yourself.
The Glamazon: I did not get drunk. Is that what you're saying? Oh, please. I'll just have a ginger ale.
Mamela: You are so boring! I want some wine. Look, they have a nice pinot grigio.
Me: Where's it from? Turkey?
Mamela: No, Italy.
We all put on our reading glasses and study the menu. The waiter swoops in.
Waiter: Bottled water for the table? Sparkl--
Mamela: (Not looking up from her menu) No, we'll have good old New York tap water with ice and lemon, thank you.
The Glamazon: Oh, I want the Baba ghanoush and some hummus and tabbouleh...
Mamela: Are you not having a drink because you're watching the calories again? Please!!
The Glamazon: ...and some lamb. We all like lamb, right? (All nod, still studying our menus)
Mamela: Don't get the bread salad. It was a waste of money. All bread and no salad. I like the mixed grill. Let's get that for the table.
Me: Are we doing family style again?
Mamela: Of, course, we all get to try a lot of little things. Like tapas.
Me: That's Spanish, by the way. Maybe they have some Spanish wine. Or Sangria.
The Glamazon: I thought you weren't eating sugar.
The waiter returns with the good old New York tap water.
Mamela: Where are the lemons?!
He scurries off.
Mamela: (takes off glasses and addresses the table victoriously)OK, we'll get the mixed grill and the lamb, the hummus and tabbouleh and let's see what kind of vegetable they have.
The waiter timidly returns with the lemons. Before Mamela can order, he speaks.
Waiter: Can I get you something from the bar?
Mamela: I'd like a glass of this wine (points to wine list). Is it good? (Waiter nods). Good. I'm glad you said so. I'll trust you that it's good. (waiter looks anxious)
The Glamazon: I'll just have water.
Waiter: Just water?
Mamela: She's pregnant!!
The Glamazon: I am not. I just don't want a drink.
Mamela: (to waiter) I'm just kidding. We're too old to be pregnant.
Me: (quickly) Please bring me a Bombay Sapphire gin martini up with lime...and quickly, please.

It was quite a night.